Meet Virginia
by Fire Of The Stars
Summary: Draco Malfoy decides to attempt the impossible: Becoming friends with Ginny Weasley. But the road to success is far from smooth, and may just lead to something neither is counting on.
1. Default Chapter

_The way you're bathed in light_

_Reminds me of that night_

_God laid my down into your rose garden of trust_

_And I was swept away_

_With nothing left to say_

_Some helpless fool, yeah, I was lost_

_In a swoon of peace_

_You're all I need to find_

_So when the time is right, come to me sweetly, come to me_

  


Chapter 1: Where It All Began

  


September 1

  


I am not sure when it started. Perhaps it all really began that first day that I met her. She was standing in front of my worst enemy. Her robes were shabby and dirty, her face smudged with soot. There was no question of her parentage. The hair gave it away. She wasn't particularly pretty. Her tangled hair was almost orange, not a flattering shade for anyone. She was too short and too thin, with far too many freckles. But something about her captivated me. Her eyes were blazing and her jaw was set in a way that made it clear to me that she was not going to back down. He meant something to her, and I had insulted him. 

That year, I kept a close eye on her. She became withdrawn, and half the time seemed terrified. For some reason, I was actually worried about her. No one else seemed to have picked up on anything. Of course, I didn't expect Potter or her idiotic brother to pay attention. But Granger is supposed to be clever. Merlin knows she likes to think so. But, no. They were all too wrapped up in playing detective. I think the only time Potter paid her any attention was on Valentine's Day. That bloody singing valentine. Why did she have to go and do that? It was practically begging to be made fun of. I wish I could say I regretted it, but she brought it on herself. I mean, really. "_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad." _Who _wouldn't_ make fun of that? Well, I suppose there are plenty of people who wouldn't. But I digress. 

  


I would have never guessed that it was she who had opened the chamber. A Gryffindor. A _Weasley_. People began to avoid her like the plague. I don't know why. It's not like possession is contagious. I tell you, some people are just so bloody stupid. After a while, I suppose she just got used to it. She slipped into the shadows, choosing to hover just around the edges. She was content to chase after the Dream Team like a little puppy. Only one person attempted a real friendship with her, and that was the annoying Creevey kid. She was defined by her status as Potter's groupie. No one seemed to notice that she was growing up. But I did. 

  


Now, on my way to my fifth year at Hogwarts, all I can think about is seeing her again. I can't seem to get the image of her at the Yule Ball out of my head. Her dress robes certainly weren't shabby. They fit her perfectly, clinging to her new curves. Her hair, which had gotten darker over the years, was pulled back, with a few waves hanging around her face. She was smiling sweetly even though Longbottom was stomping all over her feet. How could _anyone_ have that much patience with that clumsy fool? Especially considering that whenever I attempted to talk to her, she told me to sod off. Just because I wanted to know how her parents had been able to afford those beautiful robes. Honestly! Why does she have to take everything so personally? 

  


Well, this year, that is all going to change. I am going to be friends with the littlest Weasel if I die trying. Why? Because, this is something that has never (to the best of my knowledge) been attempted before. Civil interaction between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Further more, between a Malfoy and a Weasley. I very much think that, were my father to know that I had this intention, he would be unhappy, to say the least. But honestly, I could care less. The very idea of doing something deemed impossible thrills me. What can I say? I'm a rebel. 

  


Sincerely, 

  


Draco Thomas Malfoy

  
  
  
  
  



	2. The Littlest Weasel

Chapter 1: The Littlest Weasel

  


Ron keeps throwing me sympathetic glances. Honestly, it's like he thinks that being in the same compartment with Harry might give me a heart attack. No one seems to realize that I gave up on Harry ages ago. Well, Hermione knows, and understands. But it's not like my dear brother is actually going to ask about it. Ok, so seeing Harry and Cho together is a little awkward, but I'm fine with it. Really. 

  


Merlin, could she laugh any louder? It's like a fog horn. And she brought a whole slew of Ravenclaws with her. Personally I always found Ravenclaws to be rather stuffy and boring. With the exception of Luna Lovegood. She is something else. 

  


There is that laugh again. Like a goose, I tell you. It suddenly feels far too crowded in here. I think I'll go find Colin. I stand up, almost tripping over the many pairs of feet.

  


"Where are you going Gin?" Ron asks.

  


I shrug slightly. "Find Colin." A simple, short response always seems to work best around Ron. As soon as I answer, he turns his attention back to Hermione, who is talking about her vacation in France. I roll my eyes, thinking _If he didn't care, why did he ask?_

  


Harry gives me a smile and says, "See you at the feast, Ginny."

  


I don't reply, exiting and sliding the door closed behind me. I lean against the wall, rubbing my temples. I can feel the dull beginnings of a headache, and I don't doubt for one moment that it was caused by that damn laugh. As soon as I think this, there is a roar of laughter from the other side of the door, Cho's high pitched squawk clearly distinguishable. Needing to get as far away as possible, I start walking, opening every compartment and scanning it for a familiar mop of mousy hair, or the flash of a camera. 

  


Several doors down, I find the next best thing. Neville Longbottom, sitting alone, holding his toad Trevor. 

  


"'Lo Neville," I say.

  


He looks up and a smile forms on his plump face, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. I rather suspected that he fancied me a bit last term, and his invitation to the Yule Ball confirmed it.

  


"Hi Gin."

  


"I was just wondering if you had seen Colin anywhere."

  


His smile falters for a brief moment. "Colin?" He pauses a moment, thinking. "Yeah, I think I saw him grabbing a compartment with Luna. Near the front of the train."

  


I smile back at him. "Would you like to help me find them?"

  


He leaps out of his seat, nearly dropping Trevor in the process. "Sure!"

  


We continue searching compartments. After about fifteen minutes, the train gives a violent lurch. I find myself falling, and hit something soft. When I open my eyes (When did I close them?) I almost groan aloud. 

  


Draco Malfoy is smirking up at me. 

  


"Well, hello little Weasel," he says, his eyes gleaming. 

  


_Why am I still laying on top of him?_

  


"I have a name, you know," I retort.

  


_Yet I am still laying here. _

  


"Yes, Virginia."

  


I feel my eyes widen.

  


_I really should get up._

  


"Or would you rather I called you Ginny?"

  


_What the hell is going on? And why am I still on top of him? _

  


"Ginny's fine," I say weakly.

  


"You– you leave her alone Malfoy!" says a voice from behind us.

  


I spring to my feet, brushing my hair away from my burning face, to see a very red, very angry looking Neville advancing on Draco, who is now standing. He looks rather unruffled, every strand of white blonde hair perfectly in place, his sharp features relaxed.

  


"Go away Longbottom," he says slowly.

  


Neville shakes his head, his hand tightly gripping his wand. "If you bother Ginny, I– I'll curse you."

  


Draco's smirk returns as he looks between Neville and I, both red faced. "Aw, how sickeningly sweet. Ickle Neville's got a crush."

  


Neville looks rather mortified now. 

  


"Malfoy, stop," I say in a low voice. "Just leave him alone."

  


"But why? He's such an easy target," Draco says, grinning wolfishly at Neville, whose face is slowly turning white.

  
  


"Two words, Malfoy. Bouncing. Ferret."

  


The smirk drops from his face, replaced with a scowl. 

  


"What? You didn't think people had forgotten that, did you?"

  


His eyes narrow even farther. "You're going to regret that, Weaselette."

  


"I'm sure." My words are dripping with sarcasm. 

  


He turns and, with a last cold glare, stalks down the hall. 

  


"Come on Neville," I say, taking hold of the boy's arm and steering him away. "Let's go get Colin."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
